The air outside is cold and clear in the late morning sun. The truck rattles over broken asphalt. Inside in the small troop compartment, half a dozen survivors crampt together. Slumped against the metal walls, armor cracked bandages soaked with blood and healing ointment. The only light coming from a flickering emergency lamp and the glow of activ radios. Overlapping chatter mixes with static in desperat calls and commands over com “Section 5 down, requesting evac” shouts a paniced baseline support unit “Negative, fallback position 5 and 6 lost” a strained voice answers over broken static. “gold rank contact confirmed, all silvers disengage.” and a moment later “Rome command declares full withdrawal from northern Italy. Repeat. General retreat, abandon containment lines. Do not engage gold rank threats.” The truck hits a pothole. A groan passes through the wounded inside, but no one utters a word of complaint. They've run out of words for pain.
Melissa lies on the ground on one side of the transport, dried blood streaks down from her eyes, ears and nose, her body emaciated, still recovering from the life-force, mana and stamina she fed in to her wail. But the true pain comes from her soul. She never faced backlash like this.
Ability: Banshee’s Wail (banshee)
(Soul attack, Necrotic, Sound)
Base cost: high mana
Current rank: Iron
Cooldown: medium
Iron, Dirge Unleashed: The Wail ripped through flesh, bone, and soul alike. Dealing massive damage in a cone. Survivors stumbled, deaf and panicked, they did not hear it, they broke against it. The first time I screamed, the air itself tore.
Suffering the echo: I can pour more of myself in to the wail, parts of myself that will miss me. It amplify my wail, heightens the effect exponential. But I also suffer its echo, my own soul raked by its note. I feel the weight, what sound can do when it forgets to stop.
Pouring enough of herself in to it to hurt a silver ranker. The backlash had felt like it was trying to tear her soul apart. The seconds it lasted feeling like ages in her mind. Her eyes flicker open as she feels the warm touch of Virelle, feeding life-force in to her. She looks at the plant, its finer thick body dark reddish brown, light red veins pulsing over it as it moves the vital energy. Its thorns retracted as it slithers around her hand. She reaches out with her finger and scratches the familiar her eyes moving up its body to its source, emerging from a large ripped and bloodstaind trouser leg. Her eyes follow the leg up, the half naked barrel like chest, the thick neck, the blond scruff beard and the... “your eyes.” she says “they're red”. He chuckles “really? Your loud enough to make even the other side of the harbour shake and my eyes are the first thing you want to talk about?” one of the other operatives snorts... “not just the harbour. Loud enough to make a silver rank vampire shit his pants is what I heard” he says. Alex looks at her and she nods “needed him to listen to me.” he just shakes his head
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“and you are one to talk. At least only my iris changed to red.... yours are completely black.”
“They are?” her hand moves to her eyes making Virelle shudder in protest because the scratches stooped. “yes they are. I can somehow feel you are looking at me, but your eyes are just two black orbs, its like looking in to the abyss” he grins “you really go all the way with the creepy goth vibe” she snorts, its a weak sound, mixed with a whimper. “shut up.” she bites back but there is no venom in it. “how is that even possible? I never heard of changing eyes.” he just smiles. The banter helping to ignore what they left behind.
“i did. Asanos eyes are told to be silver.”
“Yes but he is not really the case to compare youreself to.”
“i know. I talked a few times to miss Hurin during my time in her trainings program. Apparently changed eyecolors are not common in her world, but far from rare. The reason earth does not have any is because we used to do all monster cores. And something about that prevents the manifestation of soulexpressions on your body. That's why scars or changed eyecolors weren't a thing before the outworlders came to earth” she listens silently “soulexpressions” she says contemplative “like, what happened there...” she does not finish the thought and both are silent for a moment “I stood up to a silver... sacrificed everything i had to make him listen. To take me serious” she says then looks up “what happened to you while we where separated?” she asks and after a moment he tells her “found another group of survivors... didn't let them die” he shrugs embarrassed and tries to appear nonchalant “Killed a few ghouls and got them out” her eyes wander over him again, over the amounts of dried blood and gore that still coats him. She wants to pry but another distant explosion stops her.
“well.” he starts again “that sucked as a field trip. Two out of five stars. Do not recommand” she stares at him for beat. Then a breath escapes her. Half way between a cough and a laugh. “Could've gone worse” she says quietly “Yeah? How so?” he asks “We could still be there.” they both laugh, broken and hollow. Its not joy. It's release. The sound of somehow, still being alive. A few of the others in the truck join in. one prays silent, his lips moving without a sound. And one starts to sob quietly. Outside the sun keeps rising, shining down on their retreat. The radio cracks again “Rome command to all operatives: Fall back. Repeat. Fall back! Reinforce the new defensive line south of the Arno. Long range artillery and air force en rout to cover the retreat. Northern Italy is lost. Repeat. The vampires hold northern Italy!”
The Truck keeps rolling, its wheels grinding over broken stone. Melissa closing her eyes. Her hand moving to scratch Virelle again. Across from her, Alexander still wears his blood coated, stupid grin. A hollow chuckle escapes him “Guess we'll have to take it back someday.” she exhales softly through her nose, a ghost of a smile tugging on her lips. “I guess we will”
